Yesterday, I went downhill skiing for the first time. I grew up skiing cross-country in the Chicago suburbs every winter -- we even had our own skis -- but my dad forbade us from downhill skiing. He is a doctor and had seen too many injuries to feel comfortable about it.
So I have always looked at skiing as something that other people did. It was too expensive, too cumbersome, and too dangerous. I love the snow, and I have taken my kids to the mountains for sledding, etc., for several winters in a row, but I had never tried downhill skiing.
To make a long story short, a unique opportunity arose on Thursday. There seemed to be a break in the rainy, snowy weather; the schools were on strike; and there is a new airline, Advanced Air, that runs a daily flight to and from L.A. and Mammoth Mountain, up north.
I decided to take the plunge -- and it was expensive -- and brought my two elder children along. Initially I had just wanted to see the snow, but then I thought of signing them up for ski lessons; they, at least, should learn. And then I thought: why shouldn't I try, too?
So I scheduled a lesson. And I nearly missed it: the rentals and so on took so long that by the time I had taken my kids to their lessons, I was already 45 minutes late for mine. But I met a kind ski instructor who agreed to teach me -- starting from the most basic skills.
I learned quickly. (She told me that I was the quickest student she had ever had.) I should have been afraid, but I wasn't -- partly because I had no time to be afraid, partly because I trusted my instructor, and partly because I really, really wanted to do this.
Within an hour, she was taking me up on a ski lift -- in blustering, blizzard conditions. I wished I could have taken photographs with my phone, but I did not want to drop it -- or to lose a ski pole. I took it all in -- the forest, the snow, the mountain and all of its mysteries.
I began to cry. I was so moved by the beauty of it, and by the fact that I was doing something that I had always believed was not for me. We reached the top and I began skiing down -- and I could do it. And it was so beautiful, with big, fat snowflakes falling all around.
I cried once more on the way down, and again as I said goodbye to my instructor. I told her that she had changed my life -- not just because I can now ski, but because I had confronted a lifelong fear. The sun came out; we flew back to L.A. 2 hours later, transformed.
This is the portion that all journalists should love: the Torah tells the story of the 12 spies, only two of whom tell the truth when the other ten shade it in a negative away (perhaps to suit a political agenda that is opposed to Moses).
It's not that the ten "lying" spies misconstrue the facts about the Land of Israel; rather, they interject their opinions that the land is impossible to conquer, which strikes unnecessary terror into the hearts of the people.
We have many examples of such fake news today -- from the Iranian propaganda outlets spreading false claims that they are winning the war, to California politicians spreading false horror stories about ICE raids in L.A.
The people realize, too late, that they have been fooled, and once they are condemned to die in the desert, they try to rush into Israel -- only to be defeated by the inhabitants, as the spies predicted that they would be.
But as consolation, God gives the people new commandments -- focused on things they must ...
This week's portion discusses the procedure for lighting the menorah, the holy seven-branched lamp, in the Tabernacle (and later the Temple). It also describes an episode where the people crave meat, and God punishes them by giving it to them in excess. We also read the story of Miriam, Moses's sister, who is punished with the spiritual skin blemish of tzara'at for speaking about her brother, thus violating the prohibition against lashon hara (evil tongue).
I heard a fantastic sermon this week about the lighting of the menorah: that while only the priests were qualified to clean and purify the menorah, anyone could light it. A reminder that each of us can inspire others along the way.
This week we study the vow of the Nazirite; a reminder that sometimes trying to be too holy is excessive, and the best we can do is to be the best that we are.
https://www.chabad.org/parshah/torahreading_cdo/aid/2495720/p/complete/jewish/Naso-Torah-Reading.htm